


The Foreign Affair

by phipiohsum475



Series: The English Mistake [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: (but does keep in the same timeline as the other fics in the series), 1940's Era, Crossover, Demon Deals, Drabbles, Gen, Horcruxes, Multiverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Predictably, the boy rose to the bait. He whipped out a stick, waved it like some ridiculous conductor and snarled, “Crucio!”</p>
<p>Crowley blinked as nothing happened, exaggerating his every flippant move as he waited. He watched rage, confusion, understanding, then triumph rush over the boy’s face. “Well, that was delightful. Do you have a deal to make, or are you wasting my time?”</p>
<p>
  <b>This is a series of conversations that won't leave me alone. It will not be a fully fleshed out story.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Foreign Affair

Crowley popped up behind a dark haired boy, pale skin, and the countenance of an adolescent. He smirked; the young were easy, full of spit and fire, hormones ablaze, souls unsettled unto their mortal plane, and therefore beautifully reckless.

" _Want to buy some illusions? Slightly used, just like new. Such romantic illusions, and they're all about you,”_ Crowley sang jovially. “ _sell them all for a penny, they make pretty souvenirs. Take my lovely illusions, some for laughs, some for tears_."

He’d been summoned to make a deal, and he’d always kept up with pop culture to charm the denizens of the crossroads. This jaunty tune was from a romantic comedy, _The Strange Affair, The Foreign Mistress_ , something like that; he wasn’t sure. But if this young man came with romance in his heart and desperation on lips, he’d recognise the tune.

The boy whipped his head around. “You’re English,” he accused, with dark, sallow eyes and a bite to his words and Crowley’s smiled went from a friendly smirk to a predatory grin.

“As are you. Aren’t you a long way from home, child?” Crowley retorted; they were at a crossroads outside Salem, Boston. The venom in the kid’s voice, he’d be ready to prove himself, even if it meant making a deal to prove himself worthy. Crowley could play him just as easy as playing the fiddle, with a classier sound.

“I’m no child, you imp,” The boy spat, and Crowley raised a brow.

“An imp, am I? You’re but a wee lad, and you’re calling me names? I’ve a few centuries on you, you’d best show some respect.” Nothing like putting a child in his place to make him act out.

Predictably, the boy rose to the bait. He whipped out a stick, waved it like some ridiculous conductor and snarled, “ _Crucio_!”

Crowley blinked as nothing happened, exaggerating his every flippant move as he waited. He watched rage, confusion, understanding, then triumph rush over the boy’s face. “Well, that was delightful. Do you have a deal to make, or are you wasting my time?”

“Magic doesn’t work here,” the boy gasped, excited and bewildered at the same time.

“I can assure you, it does. My mother was an particularly nasty example of that,” Crowley’s eyes flashed red, before returning to their typical colour.

“But my magic doesn’t work here,” the boy insisted, growing confident, “And you. You are a demon, then your mother a witch, but your body, your _meat_ , is just a husk. Your soul is separate from your body.”

“And exactly who are you?”

The man-child stood tall, and pronounced himself, “I am Lord Voldemort.”

“I’m sorry, did you mean Tom Riddle?” Crowley snarked back, “Because I can guarantee you are no Lord here.” He snapped his fingers as the name came to him suddenly – _The Foreign Affair_ , that’s what it was called.

The boy, Tom, flashed his gaze back to where he’d buried the box that contained, among other things, his identification. He looked back. “Simple enough spell. How do I know you can make a true deal?”

“Deal or don’t,” Crowley answered with a shrug, “No skin off my teeth either way.”

“I want immortality,” Tom answered quickly.

Crowley laughed, “You haven’t the faintest idea how these deals work, do you?

“I know you need souls. They don’t have to be mine,” Tom answered, a gleam of victory shining from the moonlight.

“Oh, please do go on,” Crowley snickered, “I’m in need of a good laugh.” He was snippy, but eyed the boy curiously; he knew more than Crowley had expected. This was no lovesick pup in the park.

“I have magic from my own world. Not too different from this one, except instead of magic being tainted in the hands of fallen Muggles, who pawn it off on whores filthier than Mudbloods, it is in the hands of the pure.”

“I won’t deny the filthy whores,” Crowley dismissed, “but most of what is falling out of your mouth is gobshite.” He was egging the boy on, as his mind whirled. He knew he was close to figuring out exactly what was transpiring.

“A deal’s a deal, for your kind at least,” Tom sneered, “isn’t that right? I can scarcely believe there is _putrid_ , more _base_ version of a Mudblood.”

“You keep saying that as if it means anything. It’s not just my blood that’s dirty, it’s my bleedin’ _soul_. Black, corrupt, twisted and mangled,” Crowley’s eyes flooded with red smoke. “And I rather find it to be, well- just _wizard_ ,” Crowley chuckled at his own wordplay; he’d finally gotten a handle on the situation.

Tom here; he’d come from another universe, dimension, it didn’t matter. Crowley’d been accustomed enough to the various domains of heaven, hell, Earth, purgatory; this was just another in a long line. And this one had bled just enough into Crowley’s universe to help him recognise Tom’s words and cues. A magical being, disconnected from demons? The stick, undoubtedly a wand, and well, Crowley’d been clever, even if his mother had been willing to settle for just the three pigs.

“So you know what I am?” Tom asked, sceptically.

“Close enough. The point is, you don’t belong here at all, so I fail to see how we could settle the terms of a deal.”

“The magic I have in my world; I’m powerful. More powerful than any wizard alive. I have almost achieved immortality in my own world, but I need to be stronger. Better protected. I want to place a few objects in your possession. These objects are tied to replicates in my own world; and the destruction of the replicates won’t affect the originals.”

Tom paused, to observe Crowley’s reaction, disappointed to find vague disinterest in Crowley’s look, and bristled to discover that the ennui was genuine.

“This is my deal to you,” Tom barrelled on. “You protect these items, which should cause no harm to you as magic, as I know it, is irrelevant in this world. This will ensure my immortality. In return, I shall send all the blood traitors and Mudbloods I kill to you, and you can have their souls. And I expect there shall be many; the level of loyalty I demand is beyond the weak willed.”

“I want 40 souls in 40 years, I assume that won’t be a problem?”

Tom smiled; deceptive and Crowley knew in an instant he didn’t believe he’d be held to Crowley’s stipulations. No matter. “Of course, “ he replied smoothly.

“Are you sure you’re cut out to be a serial killer?” Crowley asked, confirming Tom’s expected deceit. “I’ve met quite a few men, soldiers, in the last few years who discovered, to their dismay, they couldn’t fulfil their own expectations. Collecting deals has never been easier.”

“I have no doubt,” Tom answered, then fell into quoting some pop culture of his own. "’ _As for being a mass killer, does not the world encourage it? Is it not building weapons of destruction for the sole purpose of mass killing? Has it not blown unsuspecting women and little children to pieces?_ ’” Tom paused pensively. “I am merely but a island in an ocean of impurities.“

“Indeed,” Crowley rose his brow, but remained unmoved otherwise.

“Then we have a deal?” Tom snapped.

“I will protect your trinkets; in exchange for 40 souls in 40 years.” Crowley grinned, eyes glowing red once again. “Now for the best part, signing the contact.” He tugged Tom close; he could feel Tom’s breath hitch against his cheek, and try to pull back. “Oh, did the child not do his research? In this world, all deals are sealed with a kiss.”

Tom snarled irritably, but lunged in, kissing Crowley hard and desperate, with all the experience his age belied. Crowley indulged for a moment; it was, after all, a perk of the job, but let go quickly enough.

“I assume you know your way home? I expect so, if you’ll be sending souls in the same route.”

Tom handed him a small velvet bag, which bulged awkwardly with rounded shapes and sharp corners. He spoke coldly, “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Oh no,” Crowley leered, just to watch the boy squirm, “The pleasure was all mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://phipiohsum475.tumblr.com).
> 
> Quotes are from:  
> The Foreign Affair (1948) - Crowley   
> Monsieur Verdoux (1947) - Tom Riddle


End file.
